


in the darkness we remain

by Little_Winchester



Series: SPN Kink Bingo 2017 [5]
Category: American Gods - Neil Gaiman, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, American Gods AU, Gen, God! Dean, God! Sam, Godly! WInchesters, M/M, Sort Of, alternating pov, outside pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-26 10:03:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12554996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Winchester/pseuds/Little_Winchester
Summary: God.(noun)A superhuman being or spirit worshipped as having power over nature or human fortunes; a deity.Or, what happens when hunters live long enough to become legends.





	in the darkness we remain

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: spoilers for Supernatural Seasons 2 (if you interpret it that way), 5 and 8. No knowledge of American Gods is needed to understand this fic.
> 
> For the SPN Kink Bingo Square Soulmates.

"To Sam and Dean!"

 _To Sam and Dean_ , Oliver thought. Who the Hell were Sam and Dean?

He stood up carefully, maneuvered himself over to the table crowded with rowdy drunks with too many scars and too little light in their eyes.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," Oliver cut in. He was polite and soft-spoken, which made him one of a kind in the circles in he ran in; just another drawback of being a hunter. "But would you mind telling me who, exactly, Sam and Dean are?"

Guffaws permeated the air, but one man, mocha-skinned and grizzled, said, "Well shit, kid, ain't you ever heard of the Winchesters?"

 _Winchesters_. That name rung a bell. Oliver told the other man as much, and he nodded sagely. "Can't spend too much time hunting before hearin' the name, right, Greenie?" The older man chortled, and the rest nodded with him, as if his word were the law.

"See, those two, they're fuckin' heroes, you hear me? They saved the world, they closed the goddamn Gates of Hell. Close as I can figure, they're gods. Dean, and his little brother Sam. Our fucking heroes..."

Another man jumped in. "They started out like any other, y'know? Hunting monsters, riding around in that old car of theirs, but they've got something special, y'know? The younger one, Sam, I heard he jumped into Hell with Lucifer in his body, just to save the rest of the world. You know any one else with the balls to do that?"

A woman with a scar down her cheek wagged her finger at him. "Don't believe 'im. I heard that Sam killed the Devil with the bastard's own sword, cut him down like a pig."

A second woman waved her off. "They both locked the Devil up, that's what Bonnie up in Oklahoma told me. Shoved him in a cage up in Heaven or down in Hell, just so long as he never stepped foot back on Earth."

The first man spoke again, his voice low but clear. "Fuck if we know, Lauren. They're legends, and that's what happens to legends. You can change 'em, and you can retell 'em however you want, but the fact remains that the Winchesters beat the Devil, and they're still kicking'."

Oliver frowned. "The Apocalypse was decades ago. They'd have to be retired, if not dead by now."

The man's eyes twinkled. "They're gods, I'm telling you. God, capital-G man, doesn't give two shits about us. The Devil's dead, or locked away. Whose rules you gonna follow? Who you gonna fuckin' pray to? To the guy who's been gone for billions of years, close as we can figure, or the fucker whose feet are red from dancing on coals?" He shook his head. "Nah, kid. You stick to something real. Sam and Dean are real enough for me."

"Gods," Oliver breathed.

Thousands of miles away, two men sat facing each other in a tucked away booth in a nearly empty diner. The shorter, blonde and clear-eyed, laughed at the taller man and kicked his shin; the other responded by flicking a piece of wilted lettuce at him, which the former batted away with ease.

"Hey Sammy," he said through a mouthful of chips, "Ever wondered why the fuck we're still alive?"

Sam- _Sammy Sasquatch Samuel Sam_ \- shrugged. "Maybe we're gods," he replied. Dean couldn't tell if he was joking or not.

"Yeah," Dean snorted. "And maybe I'm a unicorn."

***

_Maybe we're gods._

And maybe they were and maybe they weren't, but something had definitely changed during the years after they'd closed the Gates of Hell. Hunters stopped greeting them with familiarity, started saluting them with awe written loud and clear in their stances. Old friends aged and new ones surfaced, but for some reason, Sam and Dean were untouchable.

Their guns were less inclined than ever to clog up during hunts. Monsters seemed to cower before them, and those brave enough to fight rarely lasted long. Sam set the old charm Betty Olson's spirit was tied to on fire without even reaching for a lighter and the measly sprig Dean stabbed a werewolf with went right through its heart and shone silver in the moonlight before looking, once again, distinctly like something so flimsy that a toddler could snap it in half without much effort.

Dean mentioned this to Sam later on as they drove to down to Charleston for their next hunt, and Sam regarded him like the last piece of a missing puzzle before saying anything. 

"You know what happened sometimes, in ancient myths and folklore? Apparently, for some rituals, you didn't need the exact ingredients or talismans or whatever. As long as you had something that represented them, it was fine. So, maybe as long as your branch represented a silver blade, it was a silver blade. Then it wasn't."

"That," Dean said slowly, "sounds fucking stupid."

"Says the guy who stabbed a werewolf with a _twig_."

Dean cursed Sam's name and Sam laughed and Dean's eyes sought out Sam't silhouette, head thrown back in laughter and barely illuminated against the darkness of the plains around them and wondered why he looked the same as he did forty years ago.

***

Maria worked the graveyard shift at the Econo King Motel, and while she wasn't particularly pleased about that fact, she figured it was definitely better than working at one of those Gas-and-Sips at night, when the only noise is the buzzing of the lights dividing the ceiling in neat white strips and time seemed to move like a fly through molasses and the most interesting thing there was to do was make up backstories for whoever was crazy or lonely or drunk enough to buy anything at a petrol station at four in the morning.

The bell jingled, signaling new customers. Maria thumbed down the corner of the page of her book and tucked it under the desk before shooting the new arrivals a weary, but welcoming, smile. Two men in their early twenties trudged in, weighed down by the rain from the thunderstorm that Maria hadn't noticed up until now but seemed to be in full swing, if the heavy pounding at the curtained windows was any indicator.

The shorter of the two tossed her a grin. "We'd like a room, at least until this bitch of a storm calms down."

The taller shook his head. His sopping bangs waved around too for emphasis, and possibly to water the mottled floor. "I already told you, Dean, it'll be gone by morning," he grumbled, but Dean waved him away. Maria fought the urge to do the same; there was no way a thunderstorm this heavy would clear out that quickly, but she refrained from saying anything.

Maria peered down at her log book, taking note of the rooms available. "Apparently, a whole lotta people had the same idea you two did, 'cause we're nearly fully booked. I've got a King that's free and a room with two Queens that you can take if you don't mind sharing with a leaky ceiling. We've had a rainy couple of days, here."

"We're taking the King," the taller one said, tone firm and unyielding, and Maria got the feeling that if Dean tried to object he'd be treated to an award-winning bitch-face. 

Dean's train of thought appeared to have been similar to hers, as he remained silent as he hoisted the duffle strap over his shoulder, shoving the keys in his pocket once they were presented to him. "Let's go, Sam."

Dean and Sam left Maria to her book, which she lost herself in until the early morning, when both her eyelids and back were protesting. 

She unfolded herself from the chair, stretched lazily and ordered breakfast from a nearby fast food place, resigning herself to the last two hours of her shift before it was Alfredo's turn to take over.

Two men padded over to her, silent as ghosts, and she almost did a double take when she got a good look at them.

They were the men from last night, no doubt about it, but they seemed to have aged ten years in the space of seven hours. Dean was also wearing a strange necklace, the horned face of an idol long ago forgotten.

Dean handed over the keys along with a wad of money, and this time his smile was framed with crow's feet and stubble.

Maria gaped at them as they slid into their car and sped away, trying to figure out if what she had seen was real or the product of a tired mind and and a large thirst for stories.

The black car rounded a corner, and it was only then that she realized that the rain had stopped.

***

In the room, there had been a nightstand with a drawer that had to be coaxed gently and lovingly to open. Sam had no idea what urged him to challenge the stubborn drawer, only that he had a feeling that there was something inside. Something old and important.

The amulet brought up memories he'd have rather left buried, of pain and loss and betrayal, but when he gave it to Dean just when he was seconds from passing out, it was worth it.

Even more so when, the next morning, the glint of its golden horns was visible between Dean's somber shirts.

Sam waited until they were in the car, speeding away to their next hunt before he mentioned it.

"So," he started, licked his lips and stretched a little too forcefully for it to be considered casual. "You're wearing the amulet, huh?"

Dean kept his eyes on the road, but nodded. "I was stupid to ever throw it away."

Sam grinned. Dean's eyes flicked to him, and before long, Dean had his own answering smile.

They stained that road with their memories, with AC/DC cranked up higher than should have been possible for such and old car and off-key voices and laughter. 

It was good to be a Winchester.

***

Cécile had been hunting for a long time, ever since a butch girl with bulging muscles and beautiful eyes had stormed into her house and lopped the head of her ex-boyfriend just as he was about to sink his fangs into her neck. 

Though it hadn't been the most pleasant experience, it was certainly enlightening.

The girl had introduced herself as Sabina, and calmly explained to Cécile that the decapitated corpse on her floor was a vampire. After watching in horror as those needle-sharp canines brushed her jugular, she'd been perfectly ready to believe Sabina.

She'd believed Sabina two hours later, with a warm mug clasped in her hands as Sabina explained that ghosts and werewolves and shapeshifters were real too.

She'd believed Sabine when she explained that while salt would banish a ghost, it would do nothing against a skinwalker. Silver worked pretty well on those, though.

She'd believed Sabina a year later when she brushed those chapped lips against her own and told Cécile that she loved her.

She believed Sabina now, with as her blue eyes sparkled with tears as she whispered that there were too many ghouls; they wouldn't make it out of the house alive.

Cécile kissed her, said, " _Ma chère_ , it will be an honor to go down fighting by your side." She pressed a machete into Sabina's shaking hand and brushed away a tear. The growling from the other side of the door only got louder, and when the shabby wood finally gave way, both hunters were on their feet, grim-faced and defiant 'til the very end.

The women surged against the incoming ghouls, hacking at them with their blades with all their might, dancing away from their blistered fingers and blackened teeth. Cécile failed to bite back a scream when one of them dug it's nails into her arm, and Sabina struggled  to get up after being flung against the far wall.

" _Je t'aime_ ," Cécile mouthed at  Sabina, and that's when two men streaked through the battered doorway and tore into the snarling ghouls.

Suddenly, Cécile felt newfound strength flood through her, and she barely felt pain as she yanked her arm out of the ghouls grip and sliced through its neck.

Within five minutes, the floor was strewn with the grisly remains of all the ghouls that had attacked them. The other hunters - two men looking to be in their late twenties, early thirties perhaps- had barely broken sweat, and Cécile couldn't help but wonder at their timing.

Sabina had gone wide-eyed when she faced the men, and Cécile couldn't help but feel like she was missing out on something up until Sabina whispered, "The Winchesters."

 _The Winchesters_. It was rare to find someone in the hunting community who didn't know of the notorious brothers, of their devotion for each other and their bravery when faced with unthinkable odds. Of their status as soulmates. Of their unmatchable determination

The shorter of the two - who wasn't that short at all, compared to Cécile's (perfectly respectable) five-foot-three - grinned at them. "That's us," he quipped, and it only then registered that this one was Dean. Dean Fucking Winchester, who took the Colt and buried a bullet in the King of Hell's head. It was hard not to feel awed just by standing in his presence.

Cécile shook her head, cleared her thoughts. "Thank you, for coming in when you did. We," she glanced at Sabina, squeezed her hand, "Um. We would have been dead, if you hadn't."

The taller one - Sam - smiled. "No problem. Just, how about we keep in touch? For whenever you want backup for a more complicated case." He flashed those dimples at her, and Cécile nodded dazedly.

"Sure," Sabine replied. Cécile stayed quiet. The events of the night had finally begun to catch up to her, and her limbs felt like lead.

The rest of the night passed in a haze. Cécile could not, for her life, remember anything else that happened, except that when the Winchesters shoved their bags in that clunky car of theirs after parting with Sabina and Cécile, she saw Sam lower his head to press a kiss against Dean's lips.

Cécile mentioned this to Sabina, later on. Sabina shrugged. "Not our place to judge," she said. 

Cécile laughed tiredly. "I suppose not," she said, quiet in the darkness. "After all, who can pass judgement on gods?"

***

Decades later, with their hands tangled together as the moon shone on the road and their souls, bound by Heaven and their own oaths, Dean spoke.

"You know what, Sammy?" Dean asked, a playful tilt to his smile. He looked twenty-eight again, fresh faced and ready to take on the world.

"What?" Sam replied, glancing at Dean, at the fuel gauge which had been on 'Full' since twenty-fourteen, at the striped asphalt ahead of them.

"I think you were right, all those years ago," Dean said.

"You're gonna have to be a little more specific," Sam teased, and Dean snorted.

"When you said we were gods. Remember that, Sammy?" 

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I remember."

"I think you might've been right." Dean shrugged. "Partly right, at least."

Sam shifted in his seat, tightened his grip around Dean's fingers. "When did you figure _that_ out?"

"It wasn't all at once. I mean, it was in Missouri, when I ganked that phoenix just by touching it. And in that little town in Texas, when you pumped a werewolf full of silver bullets even though I could have sworn your gun had been empty a second ago." Dean fell silent for a second. Two. Three. "Or now," he said, "When I realize we're still alive and every one else we knew back then is six feet under."

Suddenly, the cassette player sparked and coughed it's way to life. Old rock streamed from the ancient speakers, and Dean grinned.

"You know what it means?" Dean asked loftily. His eyes seemed to shine.

"Not gonna know until you tell me," Sam replied, smirking.

"We're the American Gods, Sammy!"

**Author's Note:**

> An idea for this fix has been basically floating around in my mind ever since I read American Gods, which was months ago, but alas, procrastination occurred.  
> This was basically written in two three a.m. sessions so the quality might be questionable and there is a high chance of there being mistakes, so please point them out if you find any.  
> Kudos and feedback are brilliant!


End file.
